


A Study in One-Shots

by TheTeaDetective



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Elementary one shots, I'll add more tags when/if I add more, Other, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTeaDetective/pseuds/TheTeaDetective
Summary: One-Shot collection for Elementary musings.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Study in One-Shots

**Author's Note:**

> Present for @Leafenclaw. X3
> 
> Sherlock and Mycroft play conkers.

The grounds of the Holmes estate held a magnificent Horse Chestnut tree. In the summer, Sherlock would sit underneath the shade of its branches and read whatever books he’d managed to pilfer from his father’s library. It was the only time of year he could do it now, when for six weeks he and Mycroft returned from school.

The Horse Chestnut tree in the school grounds was not as magnificent, and the October wind was far too biting to sit under it and read comfortably. Sherlock looked up at the tree's bright yellow leaves and listened to the rustling and crunching noises his older brother was making as he searched for his prize.

“Are you going to help me?” asked Mycroft. He was crouching down next to the base of the tree, shifting through the carpet of leaves.

Sherlock snorted derisively. “No. Doing that would be tantamount to allowing you to win.”

Mycroft sighed. “It’s just a game Sherlock. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. The older boy shrugged. 

“I think I’ve found a good one anyway. I need your help to drill through it though.”

“And just how exactly do you propose I do that?”

Mycroft stood up and held the conker out in front of himself, like it was some sort of buried treasure. Too grand for his eyes to behold. 

“You’ve got father’s Swiss Army knife,” he said, “you shouldn’t have it at school you know, you’ll get into trouble.”

There was no point in denying it. Wordlessly, Sherlock reached out, took the conker, and examined it closely. “Hmm.” Damn. It was a good one. 

The Swiss Army knife had a boring tool on it, excellent for preparing conkers. It didn’t take long to make the hole, ready for Mycroft’s waiting shoelace.

“We’re not doing rock, paper, scissors to choose who goes first, because I know you work out what I am going to choose,” said Mycroft.

“Well you should learn to avoid following the same pattern.”

That earned Sherlock a glare.

“A coin flip instead then?” Sherlock suggested. 

Sherlock chose heads. The coin landed on tails.

Sherlock held out his conker, which had been ready and laced in his pocket.

Mycroft took hold of the string of his own with his right hand, and held the conker with his left. He paused for a moment to take stock, and then propelled the conker forwards. The hit landed on Sherlock’s opposing conker, with a slight knocking sound. It rocked backwards and forwards, but it did not break. The second and third hits landed too, but the fourth one missed. Both conkers remained unbroken. 

“My turn,” said Sherlock. 

Mycroft held his conker out. Sherlock’s first and second hits landed. The third missed by millimetres. Sherlock was sure that Mycroft had moved his hand at the last second, just ever so slightly. But it was Mycroft’s turn again. 

The first hit landed, but only just. The shoe laces tangled together, and both boys yelled “Snagged!” at the same time.

“I said it first,” insisted Mycroft.

“No, you didn’t. I did.”

The two boys stood and glared defiantly at each other. 

“Fine,” said Mycroft, “your turn, as you’re the youngest.”

Sherlock felt a wave of fury wash over him like a hurricane. He hurled his conker against Mycroft’s, and both broke with a loud crack which seemed to ring out for longer than it should have done. 

Silence.

“You cheated,” hissed Mycroft.

“I did not.”

“You did! You soaked yours in vinegar or something.”

“Use your nose you imbecile. Does it smell like I used vinegar on it? You cheated before, you moved slightly.”

“I did not.”

“I saw you! YOU MOVED.”

Sherlock’s hand clenched tightly around the shoelace string of his conker, his knuckles going white from the pressure. Mycroft passed a hand across his forehead and examined his little brother for a moment. 

“Mother wouldn’t want us to fight,” he stated.

“Well, mother isn’t here. Mother isn’t anywhere anymore, Mycroft.”

Suddenly, Sherlock felt as though the ground had swallowed him whole, as though he was drowning in those bright yellow leaves that carpeted the floor around them. Drowning in his grief for his mother, his anger at his father for sending her away, for sending them away too, and his anger at Mycroft for being such an idiot. His knees sunk to the floor. He could hear the crunch of the leaves beneath them. The muddy wetness of the ground underneath. The cold wind was biting his face, making the tears that now flooded his face hurt all the more. He felt everything, and it hurt so much. 

Mycroft Holmes stared silently at his brother, watching as his shoulders shook violently, his hands digging into the muddy ground beneath him. He dropped his shoelace and broken conker, and crouched down next to him. One arm circled the smaller boy protectively, while the other produced a handkerchief, seemingly out of thin air. He wiped at the tears on his brother’s face. Sherlock flinched away.

“There is nothing I can say, nothing that I know to say,” said Mycroft quietly, “that will help with your grief for mother, and I’m sorry.” 

Sherlock took a large gasping breath of air, as though he’d been unable to breathe until that moment. He took a moment to compose himself. Mycroft did not move.

“Come on Sherlock. Forget the game. Stand up, and let’s go back inside. Maybe we can get a hot chocolate from the kitchen? Warm us up.”

Mycroft helped his brother up. The boy stood and brushed the dirt off his knees and hands. The two boys began to make their way back to the old building which housed their school. 

“I did cheat,” admitted Mycroft, as they strolled through the grounds, keeping pace with one another. 

“I know you did.  _ Idiot _ .”

The two brothers shared a rare smile. 


End file.
